


Gravity's Rainbow

by Gottoomanyships, himboplantdad



Category: Knives Out (2019), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Artist Steve Rogers, Bottom Tony Stark, De-Aged Tony Stark, Detective Steve Rogers, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, I'm Going to Hell, Implied/Referenced Suicide, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, Knives Out (2019) crossover, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Murder Mystery, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Pre-Knives Out (2019), Protective Steve Rogers, Smoking, Soldier Steve Rogers, Stephen Strange is Tony’s Step-dad, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark is a brat, Top Steve Rogers, Unsafe Sex, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic, de-aged natasha romanov, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:01:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24638821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gottoomanyships/pseuds/Gottoomanyships, https://archiveofourown.org/users/himboplantdad/pseuds/himboplantdad
Summary: For Detective Steve Rogers, this case is weird from the start. A case with the hole in the center. A doughnut.Tony Stark's just trying to get away with murder.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers (Past), Justin Hammer/Tony Stark, Justin Hammer/Tony Stark (implied), Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 23





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is my first fic I'm posting on here. It originally started out as a RP between @gottoomanyships and I. We both decided to turn it into a fic, because who wouldn't want to see Tony Stark as Ransom Drysdale? 
> 
> Also, for those who haven't seen Knives Out, it still makes sense out of context!

“No way, you’re bullshitting me.”

The glass of bourbon clinked against the desk in surprise, the large fingers wrapped around it going slack in shock. Nicholas J. Fury, probably the most famous spy-thriller novelist to ever exist, dead by suicide? And—wow. That was a lot of money. Huh. Detective Steve Rogers glared at the envelope in front of him as he raised his drink to his lips again, mentally demanding the newspaper clip to hand over its secrets. Strange, that he was given all this to investigate after Fury’s death was ruled a suicide. It was also strange that this whole thing was anonymous. Who the hell hired him?

Then again, stranger things have happened.

“Hm,” Steve resigned, the only one in the room to hear his words. He needed the money. And this was someone Sarah knew. The two had been friends all those years ago. Rubbing his thumb against the sweating glass, the detective pressed his lips together. His gut told him this was something important, even though he didn’t have much to go on. 

“Fine.”

——

Adjusting his tie as he stepped out of the car, Steve shivered in his tweed suit. God, it was the middle of January. Mind flashing to his cozy white sweater, he wondered if these were the kind of folks who expected him to be dressed to the T the whole time he was here. Blue eyes glanced over to the police detective assigned to the case — a good pal of his, Sam Wilson — while they walked to the entrance of what looked like a damn castle. A strawberry blonde opened the door (Pepper Potts, if he could remember from the short bios he was given on everyone) and they were ushered in.

It didn’t take long for him to get a read on the entire family. All rich, all famous, all varying levels of prickish behavior. Well, except for the nurse—what was his name, Clint? He seemed to be a decent person, eyes red and puffy from crying but still trying to be as helpful as possible while the rest of the family ran around with whatever drama was going on that moment. Rogers immediately noticed something was off. 

Despite the relatively large crowd, they were still missing a key character. This wasn’t everyone. A quiet, Brooklyn-accented voice murmured the observation to Sam, nodding when the police detective confirmed his suspicion. 

“Where is Anthony Stark?” Steve questioned, brow crinkling as he wandered over to the large piano in the corner of the room. When no one answered, his gaze met Pepper’s. “You, do you know?”

“Anthon— Tony? No. No one has been able to get a hold of him. He...” Pepper ran a hand through her locks and sighed, exasperated. She looked at Officer Wilson and tried to word it the best she could. “Tony is— eccentric, I suppose. But he’s practically just a kid. Turned twenty-two last year. No one is surprised he’s not here. He’s usually absent from family gatherings. Oh, well except for the gathering for Nick’s birthday a few nights ago. He was there. Everyone saw him storm out of the house.” 

A dark-haired man, Bruce, scoffed, arms crossed over his chest as Wilson looked on encouragingly. “That kid is spoiled. Never had a job, always got away with his late parents’ and, more recently, Fury’s money. Got sent to MIT at fifteen. We all expected more from him but after graduation and all that, he’s been— well, he’s not here, is he?”

At the mention of Stark leaving the house, the detective raised a brow, absentmindedly pushing his finger against the middle C-sharp of the piano. The musical note sounded through the library, and in response, Pepper huffed.

“Who exactly are you?” She asked, eyes cutting over to Rogers. “Nick committed suicide. We don’t need the police here.”

Steve offered a smile but said nothing. He didn’t want to cause too much drama, not yet. Not when they didn’t know if Fury’s death was a murder. 

As if responding to the musical question, Sam pursed his lips and sighed. Looking over at Pepper, he raised a brow and ignored the question shot Steve’s way. “And why, exactly, did Tony storm out of the house?” If there was a fight, they were all going to need to know about it—and somehow, manage to wrangle the kid into the house while they were at it.

“A fight, or some kind of argument, I believe it was.” Pepper murmured, perfect brows scrunching at the sound of the piano going off behind them. “I’m not sure what happened, I think Peter was the only one who heard him. Tony just stormed out. He isn’t a bad kid, he’s just— he’s been taken care of all his life.” 

Wilson ran a hand over his face, the notebook in his hands dangling loosely between his fingers. It was clear he was resisting the urge to comment something snarky, but he managed to reel himself in. _Be professional._

Rogers, on the other hand, was losing that battle. He’d already taken his coat off, thankful for the glowing coals and the heat of the fireplace nearby, rolling up his sleeves to get more comfortable. He couldn’t think otherwise. But from what Pepper and Bruce gave them — a party full of arguments, alibis for everyone, and contradicting beliefs of relationships — something was up. 

Something about this was interesting. 

Something was — “Who the hell is that?”

The police weren’t supposed to let anyone besides family enter the grounds, so why the shit was an R8 speeding around the bend and into the view of the entire family? The dogs outside went absolutely wild as a man stepped out, causing Steve to roll his eyes. 

Right. That must be Tony Stark.


	2. Detective Brooklyn meets Kid Genius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark's getting ready for the shit show. He's not expecting to meet his match in snark. 
> 
> At least the detective's hot.

Ah, the family was all here after all. This was going to be great. Tony cut the engine, lips curling into an annoyed snarl as the dogs absolutely lost their shit when he exited the car. He practically growled at them himself, all too aware of someone headed for him.

“Tony, you dick, you missed the funeral!” An angry Natasha huffed into the cold, a puff of steam blowing through her lips as she spoke. She could hear everyone else follow behind her as she stalked up to her cousin, eyes flaring and gloved hands clenched into fists. 

“You really missed his funeral after a stupid fight? Jerk,” the sixteen-year-old spat, only to be practically laughed at. Even the rest of their family seemed just as angry with him. Usually, he was just tolerated, given the slip because he had dirt on everyone.

Tony hardly heard what she was spewing at him, more preoccupied by the police officer and the— hold the phone, “Uh-oh, hottie alert.” Tony grinned, amber eyes pinned on the blonde man behind the silly cop standing at the front of the door. Well. This just got _infinitely_ more interesting. He pulled off his sunglasses, stuffing them into his coat pocket as he deliberately ignored “Officer Not-Hottie” and bumped right past the tall drink of water on his way inside. 

“I think he’s talking ‘bout you, Rogers,” chuckled Wilson. 

“Officer hot—what?” Steve scoffed, totally caught off guard. The six-foot-something man in front of him visibly tried to make himself smaller, probably out of instinct, leaning against the doorframe and fiddling with his midnight blue suspenders. So it was going to be _that_ kind of case.

Wilson’s smile quickly faded as Stark blew right past him. “Anthony Stark, my name is Detective Sam Wilson and if you don’t mind, I’d like to have a word—“ nope?

Tony just cooed softly at officer Wilson when he was asked to head in for questioning, plucking a snack package off the table in the foyer. He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically. 

“I’m in no state for questioning. I’m grieving. Absolutely distraught.” The younger man winked at Steve, who, annoyingly, had yet to speak to him at all. “Unless big, blonde and broody here wants to give me a uh, _private_ interrogation?” Tony laughs at the poorly hidden look from who he assumed was a detective, though the smile faded as he watched the man sidle his way. 

“Careful, I’d hate to see you wind up in Sam’s cuffs instead of mine. Best do as you’re told,” Steve replied without missing a beat. Guess he recovered from the earlier shock quick enough.

The words were murmured quiet enough for just the two of them to hear as the brunette pushed past him, the cookie in his mouth snapping in two. Tall, built and witty? _My, my._ Tony definitely had his work cut out for him. “Promises, promises.” the brunette sing-songed lowly.

He took a seat in the den.

After Tony filed into the main living room, he watched Steve take another count. It seemed like almost everyone else was here: Pepper Potts and her husband, Happy. Their 20-year-old daughter Natasha. Bruce Banner, his wife May, their younger kid Peter. Steven Strange, who practically raised Stark after his parents died. Obie was nowhere to be found, probably off somewhere on business. And then there was Clint Barton, the nurse, and Maria Hill, the housekeeper. 

Slipping large hands into his pockets, the blonde detective nodded to Sam, who cleared his throat.

“Alright, everybody. I’ll do this again one more time,” Wilson started, pointedly glaring at Tony. “My name is Detective Sam Wilson. I’m with NYPD. I know it’s a bit of a drive from here, but it is what it is. This—“ here, he gestured to a politely smiling Steve, “—is Detective Steven Rogers. He’s offered to help consult on this case and I’m, uh, gladly taking the help. So we’re gonna ask you a few questions, one by one.”

Stark’s eyes never left the blonde’s ridiculous baby blues as Detective Wilson made introductions again, aware that the dark skinned man was glaring daggers at him. Yay. This was definitely going to be fun. All Tony had to do was show up and stir the pot just a tiny bit. He hadn’t even truly gotten started. 

It seemed like Detective Rogers was playing his game though, which, okay, Stark could definitely get behind that— or in front of it, whatever. 

“So, you got assigned to the case, but he—“ Tony made a point of raking his eyes slowly over the other detective’s body, “he’s here on... consultation? And for what? A suicide case? Who even hired the prick anyway?” 

The family all looked at each other in confusion. Sure, Tony was a little bastard, but he was right. Why was the other detective consulting? And why did they think there was something more going on? 

Tony crossed his arms, leaning back in the plush seat. He wouldn’t be the losing one here. Not a chance. He’s immediately smacked on the arm and before he could make a biting comment, his surrogate dad was crowding behind the chair. Strange was looking at him with that exasperated, fatherly look that always makes Tony feel guilty somehow. 

God damn it. 

Oh well. Tony wasn’t a snot-nosed little kid anymore, he was a consenting adult and he could intimi-flirt with whoever he wanted to. And Steve Rogers was definitely on his list now. The genius was definitely going to look him up the moment those two bozos took the next person in for whatever lame interrogation they had planned. 

“It was a suicide, wasn’t it?” Strange asked. “Is there evidence that suggests otherwise?”

“As a reminder, the medical examiner hadn’t determined it to be a suicide yet,” Steve settled on, fishing a cigarette and lighter out of his pocket. A questioning glance and a nod from Bruce later, there was a small flicker of flame and a puff of smoke leaving the blonde’s lips. 

Huffing out a breath of laughter at that ridiculously obvious glance over from Tony, Rogers continued. “And ‘the prick’ is the one asking questions here, Anthony.” A surprised laugh slipped out of one of the younger kids — Peter — at the retort, crossing his arms in glee.

Tony watched those pretty pink lips wrap around the cigarette, schooling his face into a mask of disinterest at the quick comeback. 

“Oh I like him,” Peter offered, playfully sneering at Tony as he spoke. Natasha nudged him to be quiet, mumbling something about this not being the time to get competitive.

The genius shot his younger cousin a sharp glare and gave Natasha the bird when her cold eyes turned on him. Jeez, what the hell had he ever done to her? The old geezers he could understand but Tasha and Peter?

Pepper, Bruce, and Strange all look at each other. 

“Not that I don’t appreciate the thorough investigation, but we all just buried my father a night ago,” Bruce grumbled. “After celebrating his birthday with him, is this all absolutely necessary?” 

Clearing his throat, the accented voice of the detective took on an apologetic tone while speaking around the cigarette. “I can assure you, we wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t a necessity. I’d just like to weigh all the considerations before handing the case back over. I appreciate your cooperation.” 

It didn’t leave much wiggle room, sky blue eyes landing on Stark as a puff of smoke left his lips, which quirked upward in a smirk. It was fucking stupid, that oh so polite way of saying “stay the fuck in place,” those glinting eyes and slip of a grin being directed at him. Yeah right. As if anyone here truly thinks that Tony won’t jump back into his Audi and get the hell out of fuck town.

“Uh, yeahhhhh,” Sam continued, drawing the last word out while rubbing his hands together, as if forming a plan. The will reading was tomorrow afternoon, meaning they had a day to properly question everyone. All ten of them.

“Right. We’ll give all of you a few hours to settle in for the next couple of days, but then we’d like to sit down with every one of you. And Mr. Rogers here might be kind enough to ‘appreciate your cooperation’—“ here, Wilson spoke with air quotes, “—but I’m requiring it. No leaving the estate grounds without express permission from one of us.”

The collective sigh of annoyance from the family was relatively expected. “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna excuse myself for some dinner before the show,” he chuckled to Steve, who gave a nod. 

After Sam left the room, all eyes seemed to turn to Steve, who, of course, tried not to notice. 

Strange must’ve sensed Tony’s imminent departure, because there was a strong hand being placed over his shoulder as soon as he tried to rise from the chair. No fucking way they were going to make him stay if he didn’t want to. Wilson got to leave to get food, so why shouldn’t he be able to go out and get a drink? Heaven knows his family probably drained this place dry by now. 

The brunette looks up at his surrogate father and gives him his best puppy eyes. “I’m just getting up to get a drink and a smoke, dad. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Of course, things had to get interesting.

“Oh, _shit_ , wait a minute,” Peter gasped, standing up from his place leaning against the window. He nudged Clint, who was standing beside him, and shoved his phone in his pocket. 

“I read about you on Twitter! You’re the, uh, the one famous detective. The one everyone compares to Sherlock Holmes,” the kid laughed in disbelief. “You do all the really crazy cases. You just did the one in Germany. With the underground Nazis.”

Ton’s whiskey eyes snap to Rogers, like all the others in the room. 

_Dammit, Peter._ Just when he wanted to make his great escape, his cousin just had to drop a challenge in his lap. 

The tick in Steve’s jaw made a small appearance as it clenched tightly, lips stretched into a thin line as he was unmasked. In front of him, Stark stood, a vicious smirk on his face, one hand on his hip as the other slashed through the air in the general vicinity of the detective. 

“I dunno Petey, I think Sherlock Holmes would be a little better at pronouncing his R’s. Not quite so—“ Tony mocked the blonde’s thick Brooklyn accent. Oh, the look that got him was absolutely priceless.

“Up yours,” Steve grumbled quietly, making sure to mimic the flat Rs the Fury family spoke with. 

Tony only bounced his eyes suggestively at the insult, practically laughing his way out the door. _Up mine indeed,_ Tony thought, hands going to his pockets for his cigarette case. Still, Tony had drinks to drink and places that were not here to be. He’d be back, definitely to poke more fun at Detective Brooklyn over there. But that would be only when he actually wanted to. 

Steve’s baby blue eyes rolled harshly, giving Tony a knowing look as he swept past. The billionaire settled against the front door frame to catch a minute for himself. 

He’d just placed the tube between his lips when he heard the door to the den opening behind him. “Don’t worry dad, I’ll be right back.” Tony calls out without looking back. He’s struggling with his lighter when the accented voice behind him startles him a little.

“Need some help with that? Smoking’s bad for you, y’know.”

Stark really hates that he finds that cartoonish accent ridiculously hot. He turns with a sly grin, finally lighting the end of his cigarette and continues walking backwards as he catches the other man’s eye. 

“Well hello, Detective. Definitely not the dad I was expecting but— I suppose you’ll do.” Tony laughs at the other’s expression, eyes sparkling with amusement from beneath his dark lashes. Tony can’t exactly say he’s surprised that Detective Rogers came out to find him. 

“Be careful what you wish for,” Steve quipped, brushing the wrinkles off his tweed jacket. 

“Best not to linger, Chuckles, people will talk.” 

Oh boy, this guy was going to be trouble. In more ways than one. Tony’s almost to the Audi. If he can just get inside, then no one could stop him from leaving. 

Eyeing the way Stark was thumbing over the keys to the R8 doorway, Steve began walking toward him, trying to contain the amusement on his face.

He took his time pushing past Tony, not bothering to suck in his broad chest to avoid pressing the other against the frame. The genius couldn’t even be offended as the other practically smooshed him into the door. _Holy fuck._ Tony would definitely convince this guy to take him to bed.

With a playful glance, Steve moved right past, sauntering over to the driver’s side of the R8.

“Do I actually need to borrow Wilson’s cuffs? If you really think you’re gonna try going anywhere, I can’t legally stop you. Not a cop and all,” Rogers shrugged. 

“Don’t disappoint me now. I thought you said you had your own set? Well, it doesn't matter. We can use Officer Wilson’s just fine— hey, you— what?”

Tony’s blinking stupidly at the familiar set of car keys dangling from those thick fingers and for a split second, he’s too distracted by them to react. Steve must’ve swiped them when pushing through the door.

“I’m comin’ with, if you don’t mind.”

Ugh! How could Tony have been so stupid and distracted? Dark brows furrowed and he stalked toward the taller man, who had at least four inches on him. 

“You sure about that? Because I will take you home with me. And we won’t be back anytime soon.” Stark rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, watching the other as his baby blues tracked the movement. 

“Oh, is that so?”

“It’s not very _professional_ of you, but you did say you weren’t a cop.”

“And it’s not very _legal_ of you. I’m just doin’ my job by keeping an eye on you.”

Tony’s smaller form slowly crowded the other against the door of the car. After all, he wasn’t going to pass up a romp with Detective Hottie, not if he could help it. His home was only half an hour down the road and well, he’d taken care of everything that needed it. All files and important personal items were locked in the safe. 

Tony walked his fingers up the taut plain of Rogers’ stomach, having _waaay _too many thoughts about those ridiculous suspenders.__

__“So how about it, Brooklyn? Give me my keys and I’ll take you home. Or move and go back inside, you know, if you’re too chicken. I’m sure the rest of my family is plastered to the windows right now and watching your every move. They’re charming like that.”_ _

__“Are you ever going to actually say my name?” Steve smirked. Brooklyn, Chuckles, Detective Hottie. Was there an end to the ridiculous nicknames?_ _

__With a resigned sigh and a shake of his head, snowflakes spraying out of his hair as he did, Steve walked around to the passenger side before tossing the keys over the sleek hood of the R8 to Tony._ _


	3. Say My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snooping, snark and more?
> 
> Why does doing the wrong thing always feel so good?

Steve was _so_ going to hell for this.

Strawberry pink lips curled upward in a grin, snickering as the genius stalked toward him. Steve made a show of looking down on Tony, tilting his chin upward. 

“So how about it, Brooklyn?” Tony was taunting, walking his fingers around his stomach and practically pressing against him. Not that he particularly minded, but Jesus, had he ever met anyone this ballsy? The detective’s gaze followed the pretty sight of teeth pulling against Stark’s lower lip, throat tightening in curiosity—focus, Rogers.

“Are you ever going to actually say my name?”

A bark of laughter pops from Tony and he shrugs, sliding into the car with a coy look. “It all depends, _Grant,_ ” Tony smirked, using the middle name JARVIS had so helpfully supplied during the very brief peek he’d had into the blonde’s personal file. The AI was currently working into looking at more classified stuff. 

“Depends on how vocal you think you can make me. If you’re good enough, I might be inclined to indulge you.” 

“Try to not lose your voice, huh? I’ve got to question you in a few hours,” Steve deadpanned. Tony nearly chokes on his spit at the insinuation, wide, whiskey colored eyes briefly cutting to the blonde.

Grant? How did the little cretin have enough time in between the introduction and the car to do his research? Maybe there was a bit of brain in between all the thoughts prompted by his dick. 

It was clear Steve had his work cut out for him, a disbelieving huff of laughter slipping off his tongue at that unmistakable challenge. _Sir yes sir,_ he thought to himself, lips twitching in anticipation at the thought. _If you’re good enough._ Yeah, sure. 

“I’m just keeping my eye on you,” Steve persisted, reminding the young brunette he wasn’t exactly allowed to leave the premise while shoving down the spikes of hope that were begging Tony to do exactly that. On a professional level, at least he’d get the chance to snoop around a bit and find out more about the character. If Stark was the one who had a fight with Fury the night of his death, then this was his lead suspect for the moment. 

Which meant he’d be fooling around with a possible murderer, but then again, that wasn’t exactly a first. So the detective weighed his options, icy blue eyes wandering the outline of Tony before scoffing.

Steve opened the door and he folded himself in, all too aware of how small the inside of the car was compared to a man of his stature. Small, but easily the most expensive he’d ever seen. Should he—you know what? No, he didn’t have to hold back. The prick could clearly take what he dealt out. Thick fingers slid the seatbelt into place, the small click drowned out by the revving engine.

Casually slipping off his suit jacket, Steve’s head lolled to the side. “So, how many times did you have to mow your dad’s lawn to get the fancy car? Or was it a sweet 16 gift? Some sort of bribe to stop spilling secrets about your aunt and uncle’s affair? Definitely had to be something. Can’t really picture you workin’ unless it’s in, y’know, the bedroom,” he snarked playfully.

“I mean, May and Happy are fairly obvious don’t you think?” The genius huffs, placing his sunglasses back on his face. 

“And you’re right. That is the only place I work. Well, sort of anyway. I sold a few pattens for some robotics work to buy myself this. The Beamer was my MIT graduation gift.” Stark chuckles and takes his turns sharply, loving the feel of the car sliding beneath his palms, the slight look of surprise from the older blonde.

Steve’s eyes cut to the other, slightly taken aback at the mention of robotics. Robotic patterns? He wasn’t even sure what the hell that meant. Okay, so maybe there was more that met the eye to the rich fuckboy. Instead of saying anything about it, he simply nodded, gaze turning to the window as the car peeled out of the driveway, quickly turning individual trees into a blur of brown and white and shades of gray.

He ran a hand through his hair to shake out the rest of the snowflakes. Maybe it was the low thrum of 80’s rock music coming from the radio, guitar shredding and drums beating to a ridiculous pace, or maybe it was the way he felt those dark eyes on him that quickened his heartbeat. Either way, Steve was on edge, fingers fidgeting with his suspenders or matching tie or really anything to keep himself busy.

“Why weren’t you at the funeral?” He asked skeptically, settling on doing something actually useful. Sure, he doubted Tony would answer, but on the off chance, he wanted to try.

To his own horror, his mind supplied plenty of helpful ideas: You could always fuck the answers out. Jesus. Steve coughed, eyes widening in self-hatred. Why was he like this, huh? This is why he couldn’t have nice things. 

Tony didn’t answer, fingers twisting the volume knob to the radio upward.

They were here, though, the sleek white car pulling into the driveway of an equally sleek White House. “Robotics money too, or was this daddy’s money?” The detective slinked out of the car, shivering against the snow that had begun to fall. They couldn’t get inside quick enough — for more than one reason.

“Depends on which daddy,” Tony answered playfully, pulling out his phone to scroll through messages as they walked through the threshold of the home. It’s a message from JARVIS. Interesting. A decorated war veteran. Born and raised in Brooklyn to a Sarah— why did that name ring a bell? Never part of the police force. How strange.

“Depends on which—jeez, kid, you’re really somethin’, you know that?” Steve snorted, shaking his head as they made their way toward the entrance of the sleek home. Well, it looked more like a museum than a home, at least from the outside. Padding up the steps behind Tony, the blonde was solidly caught off guard by the cool, clean voice over the intercom in the house. 

_“Good afternoon sir. You have a message from Justin Hammer, shall I delete it for you?”_

“You shall.” Tony answers the AI absently.

Justin Hammer?

Large feet froze in place, eyes going wide in alarm at the mention of the name. Steve knew that name. Where did he know that name from? And why did his chest feel so tight?

“Nice doorbell you got there,” Steve warily remarked, eyes instinctively scanning the area. Floor to ceiling windows, open areas, minimalist furniture. Wide and open and almost ironic for someone who was definitely hiding his fair share of secrets.

“He’s not a doorbell, he’s my AI, as in Artificial Intelligence. Jeez, give him more credit than that,” Tony smirked. “So, Captain Rogers, can I get you anything to drink? Make yourself comfortable. I can give you a tour if you like,” Tony murmured, brushing past the blonde to pour himself two fingers of bourbon. 

Captain!

“I didn’t think it was that obvious,” Steve scoffed, fingers pressing against the bridge of his nose to hide his surprise. How was this guy doing that? Had to be the AI, right?

Curious blue eyes trailed to the bottle of bourbon in between scarred fingers and the detective nodded. “Won’t say no to a drink or a tour,” he replied, lips quirking upward at the way Tony’s voice dropped. 

Tony laughed easily and shook his head, handing the Captain his drink. “It is to me. I like a man in uniform.”

 _Too damn attractive,_ Steve thought, absentmindedly loosening his tie as he decided to play the brunette’s game. Sidling over to Tony, Rogers tilted his head. “Do you usually invite all good looking detectives investigating death around the area for a nice glass of bourbon and a heavy side of bratty bottom energy?”

Tony obviously can’t help the way that his lips twisted in a lopsided grin. “No, not usually. I dish out surprise top energy every once in a while. And it’s not always murder” He quipped, making his way toward the hall. 

Jesus.

Glancing around the house, the blonde didn’t mind all too much that he was making it clear he was prying. Books lined the shelves on the wall, mostly on technology and physics. There was a safe by the fireplace, locked and recently used, judging from the way it was slightly askance from the dust line. His line of sight was distracted at the sight of the bedroom and Steve cleared his throat as Tony wandered that way. Of course he was gonna follow.

“So what’s a nice guy like you doin’ in a dump like this?”

“A guy done me wrong.” Tony lamented sarcastically, letting his amber eyes look up through a fan of lashes. “What’s your story, _Captain?_ What would people say if they saw you in this place if ill repute?” Tony absently pointed at different open doors: guest room, game room, lab. At the end of the hall was his bedroom, and he was slowly making his way there.

“My story?” A bark of laughter slipped through Roger’s lips, his head shaking in disbelief. ‘What’s your story,’ said the rich kid under investigation for the death of his Granddad who wouldn’t even fuckin’ say why he didn’t go to the funeral. _What’s your story._ Broad shoulders raised in a shrug as war-torn fingers began rolling up his sleeves again, not ready to admit to himself where he knew this was headed.

“Probably a little different from yours. Grew up in Brooklyn—“ here, Steve over pronounced his accent, taking note of the red in Tony’s cheeks, “—and did the whole army thing right outta school. Did a few tours. Came back. Couldn’t sit still long enough to get a degree, so I did some freelance investigator stuff. Guess I did alright, considering I’m here now…”

The detective’s accented voice trailed off once his shoe hit carpet: They were in the bedroom. Quiet, simple, minimalistic, just like the rest of Stark’s house, with just a hint of what he guessed was actually the guy’s personality. A couple of bright paintings, a record player with a stack of vinyls adjacent to it, photos of nice cars and pet projects he’d worked on. Tony was completely at ease as he strode in, just like he had millions of times before.

When Steve’s voice left his mouth, he didn’t expect it to be so tight.

“What’s your story then, Einstein? Wait, let me guess.” A large hand pressed itself against his forehead in the same way Tony had joked earlier to avoid questioning. “You’re too distraught for that, too?”

Tony snorted. “You’ve got me alone in my bedroom and you’re more interested in my tragic backstory than all the other, much funner uses for my mouth? What a boy scout.” He pulled a cigarette from the case in his pocket, leaning against a small work table in the corner of his room. He lit it and took a drag, waving his hand flippantly. 

“I can multitask, thanks.”

“Find. My parents both died in a car accident when I was young, about ten or eleven. Obie and Strange were friends of the family and took me in. Went to MIT at fifteen. Graduated at seventeen. I started my own small company at eighteen, Stark Industries. Mainly robotics, data, analysis. Stane wants me to dabble in weapons but—“ Tony shrugged and tapped the ashes into the little tray to his left. 

“All of my designs are one of a kind, so you can see why I value my privacy. Justin Hammer from Hammer Industries, has been quite literally trying to get up my ass for a joint partnership but not even I could save his shit company. Though I guess I can’t blame him, it is a pretty nice ass.” Tony snarked, his little bark of laughter causing the other to roll his eyes. 

Steve could practically see the gears turning in the younger genius’ head. Orphan, genius, billionaire, playboy. Possibly dabbling in weapons? Bushy brows knit together in curiosity. So, Tony knew a thing or two about modern weaponry. Or at least had a relative who did—there was that name again.

“Hammer Industries,” he repeated, rolling the name off his tongue like he was trying to place it. And then he was distracted, eyes moving to the curve of Stark’s ass. Fair enough.

The brunette arched a brow. “You’re familiar with the name?” 

Feeling Tony’s eyes on him, Steve made a point of not answering the question. He guessed it took, because the genius gave up, taking another drag, this time letting the smoke slowly pour out of his mouth as he talked. 

“So, is that enough information for you, Captain? Because you sure were talking big for someone who hasn’t made a move yet.”

There it was again: Captain. Tony sure liked that one.

 _‘I do like a man in uniform,_ ’ he’d said. Yeah, sure. More like he liked them out of uniform. Steve huffed out a disbelieving laugh. This fucking guy. Then again, there was no mistaking that challenge. 

They were barely inches from one another, his head tilted downward to study the way the cold light from the window caught the gold flecks in Tony’s eyes. _Too damn pretty to resist,_ he thought, fingers deftly plucking the cigarette from those cherry red lips of his to steal a drag of his own.

“I just wanted to see how long it would take for you to ask.”

Tony rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, laughing softly at the older man’s words. “Oh, I’m the one who had to ask, huh? Figures you would be too chicken _mmph—!_ ”

Steve didn’t wait for him to finish the sentence: Large hands were already curling into fistfuls of brown waves, lips smashing against the other’s with the force of a 6-foot-something man who often forgot he was stronger than most. The little needy sound that left Stark didn’t even register. 

God, and it was so good. Tony’s lips stung with the taste of smoke and bourbon, the smell of his expensive cologne up close and personal. It didn’t take long for heat to start coursing through Steve, fingers sliding from Stark’s hair to his top of his throat.

Tony was practically panting by the time Steve pulled away, and they both pretended to ignore the shudder of want that coursed through him. The brunette’s head tipped back a little, relishing in the not-quite-tight hold of the hand around his throat. His eyes fluttered.

“That enough of a move for ya?” Steve growled out.

“It’s a g-good start,” the playboy grins, hands yanking on those ridiculous suspenders.

Somewhere along the line, the two had stepped back. Tony was practically pushed up onto the small table, and he took advantage of it by wrapping his legs around Steve’s tapered waist. 

The Captain let his free hand wander and his lips roam, before Tony pulled him back in for another heated kiss. Tony was melting, and it was the way he was practically sticking to Steve’s skin that had him sighing into the other’s mouth. They were leaning further against the oak table, a mess of hands scrambling against the wood and on clothing and in hair. Bitten lips eventually parted from one another, sucking in air with heaving chests. Thin fingers snapped his suspenders against his chest. It sent a jolt through Steve, the heat going straight to his cock.

“Hop to it, soldier. I’m sure you’re being expected back," Stark’s voice was low and smokey with desire. “Though I’m not entirely inclined to let you leave tonight.” 

God, this was so fucked up. But it was so, so fucking good.

“Think it’s the other way around here, Stark,” he roughed out, biting and kissing on the brunette’s throat, jawline, ears, lips. Anything he could, barely realizing the cigarette was still dangling in between his index and middle finger. “You’re the one who’s not going anywhere.”

Out of all the stupid ideas he’s had, this was definitely turning out to be a favorite. It was clear that Tony couldn’t decide between dropping to his knees or keeping that playful pout on him. Nothing wrong with making that decision for him, right?

War torn hands planted themselves square on Tony’s chest, shoving him backward and onto his bed. Steve was pretty sure he’d never even seen that nice of a bed before, let alone fuck around on one. First time for everything, he guessed. Glancing down at Stark as he loosened his tie and stripped if off, he grinned crookedly. 

“What was it that you said about finally calling me by my name, huh? Or doing work in the bedroom? Wanna remind me of that?” Exhaling deeply, the detective ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t help being a bastard. Leaning backward to snub the cigarette on the ashtray, Steve rolled his shoulders and slipped off his suspenders. He promptly moved over to Tony and slid his hands underneath the dark sweater, raising it above his shoulders and over his head. 

“Fuck,” Rogers breathed, dark eyes immediately drawn to the toned, tanned muscle. Tony couldn’t help the laugh that leaves him as he pulled at the buttons of Steve’s shirt, tempted to simply rip them clean off. He untucks Steve’s shirt from his bottoms, running a hand along the seam of his pants.

“Mm, you haven’t exactly done anything that merits me calling your name, darling.” Tony was panting softly as his hands finally got Steve’s shirt open and off his shoulders, his voice rough.

“Oh, I’m just thinking ahead here,” Steve deadpanned, shrugging as if asking another how much it would take to yell his name was something he did every other Tuesday. The words left his mouth as Tony got his shirt over his shoulders and holy shit, what an expression. The guy was practically drooling, eyes wandering over his torso and making Rogers shudder.

“Betcha you’ll say my name before I say yours.” Stark taunted. “Get on your back, soldier and I’ll show you just how well I work in the bedroom.” He pushed uselessly against Steve’s chest, huffing with aroused annoyance that Steve doesn’t even budge a little, only drawing out a rumble of laughter. 

“Now that’s actually funny,” Steve replied. “But, y’know, sir yes sir and all that.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

The moment he relented and lay down in bed, Steve realized he didn’t know exactly what he was getting himself into. Sure, yeah, he was down to fuck. Who wouldn’t be with Tony? But there was that competitive look glinting in those whiskey eyes, telling him this was going to be so much more. 

Pink lips parted in a sigh as he felt those gorgeous thighs slide over him.“Yeah, well you’re an— _ah_ —entitled _prick,_ ” he growled back, tilting his neck upward to expose his throat for the other. The blonde could feel his pants being fumbled with, and his eyes fluttered shut as rough fingers dipped below his waistline. 

_Holy hell,_ this was bad news—well. In a good way.

“I am not getting naked before you,” he shot, sliding his hands out from under Tony and into a position where he could unbutton those jeans of his. That’d be a goddamn crime. Fingers lined with white, tiny scars slipped the button through its opening, impatiently grabbing the waistline and sliding it down as far as he could. Which, to be fair, wasn’t too much considering Stark was on top of him. But it was enough to make Steve’s chest tighten as he grinned in anticipation. “Pants. Off. All the way,” he ordered, voice rough with want. 

Tony went to bat Steve’s hands away: it was his time to shine right now and he growled out a short “as if,” before continuing to try to undress and tease the other as he went. “Technically, since I unbuttoned your pants first, you were naked first.” Tony snarked at him, a punched out sigh of pleasure coming from him as his jeans finally popped open and his dick got a little relief. 

Tony was an asshole. A bratty bottom. A little shit. That teasing grin was enough to make the detective roll his eyes in annoyance; he was ready to fuck, dammit. Sculpted arms practically lifted the younger off him, moving him to the side of the bed to slip off his jeans and underwear all the way. Stormy eyes went hungry at the sight of Tony naked. 

God, he was the prettiest man Steve’d ever seen.

Stark’s mouth recovered near instantly and the brunette went for an eloquent, “what was that about my prick?” 

Rogers snorts, and Tony used the distraction to dip his fingers beneath the waistline of Steve’s bottoms, pulling them down and over his ass. Even still, he had Tony practically pinned. Tony being, well, _him,_ hardly notices the way that his legs spread invitingly. 

“And here I was gonna treat you nice.” Tony groused. His voice was surprisingly steady, patient, but it was wearing thin. “Guess you could find out just what my mouth does later. You seem a little desperate to get to me. It happens.” 

The two glared at one another. Fine. Tony wanted to be a brat? Sure. But Steve could play ball, too. “I will use my tie to shut you up,” he warned, running a thumb over Tony’s lower lip. 

“I’m sure you’d like that. Hell, I’d like it. Guess it’s an easy out to take if you think you can’t make me say your name. Don’t worry, honey, I understand.” Tony was grinning up at him, tongue lapping at the thumb on his lip

Part of Steve couldn’t get enough of that snark. The other part of him just wanted the kid to shut the hell up so they could fuck. Not that he’d ever fucking bring it up, but between the way the brunette was running his tongue and teeth over him and the way their skin was already sticking together from the heat, Steve was ready. 

“You know eye-fucking me doesn’t count right?”

_Oh my god, he’s insufferable._

“I don’t know, you seemed to be pretty pleased with it earlier,” Steve retorted, rolling his eyes and scanning the area for—yep, there it was. Grabbing the bottle of lube off the bedside table and shaking out the liquid onto his hand, Steve exhaled slowly while slicking himself up.

The sound of Steve stroking his cock had Tony’s body practically vibrating with want and some growled, snarky snap at the blonde to get on with it left his lips. Jesus Christ, could he be any more of an asshole? Steve made sure to take his time sliding home after a quick prep, pressing his blunt head into Tony and reveling at the sight of those brown eyes practically crossing. 

“Fuck,” Steve growled, his mind growing crowded with static. It’s a fucking stretch.

Tony cried out, his fingers digging into the other’s thick shoulders as he fought not to arch his back, despite practically being shoved into the mattress. _“H-holy fuck, Brooklyn.”_

Rogers couldn’t help himself: he threw himself into it head on, a force of thrusts and bites and kisses, while Tony scrabbled for purchase on the blonde in an attempt to simply hold on to him. Amber eyes were rolling back, moans tumbling off his lips in punched-out sounds he couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to. Somehow, through all the haze in his mind, the soldier reminded himself how badly he wanted to beat Tony at his own game. 

A strong arm placed itself on Stark’s freckled back, lifting the both of them up and turning Tony to face away from Steve. As he pulled back to change positions, between dark lashes and the blonde locks of hair falling into his face, Steve could see Tony: hair spiked and messy from fingers being run through it, bruises slowly starting to form along his neckline, lips bitten and swollen, chest heaving as he panted for air, and eyes so dark they were basically black. 

He felt a grin tug at his lips. This guy was so gorgeous it was really just unfair, all tanned skin and toned muscle. Part of him realized he’d been so impatient to get on with this, not taking their time because he wanted this to happen again. Something about that ridiculous snark and sharp-as-a-knife mind. Then again, with Tony Stark, who wouldn’t feel that way?

Right. Back to work.

Steve grunted as he slid in again, rolling his hips until he found the right angle for Tony’s prostate. The resulting cry felt like a jolt of electricity through him, a low groan slipping out as a hand anchored itself on the brunette’s shoulder.

 _“Fuck, yes,”_ Steve cursed, the words beginning to repeat as he pumped into the other. Once the initial shock was over, he reached around Tony’s waist, hand wrapping around his heavy cock and stroking in time.

Scarred fingers flex in the sheets like Tony’s life depends on it as Steve is sliding home. And when he hits Tony’s prostate for the first time, the younger man jerks and his back bows almost painfully. 

_“Oh fuck, oh fuc— S-Steve!”_

Stark’s voice nearly shouted as the other man’s hand goes around his cock and fuck, Tony knew he lost their little game. He pushed his hips back to meet Steve’s thrust and between that, and the big hand on him, the brunette was barreling toward the edge.

Oh, Steve was so in over his head. As a 33-year-old, it wasn’t exactly like he was real spry anymore. And Tony—Jesus, the guy was a tan Adonis, witty and smart as hell and chomping at the bits to wrestle him into bed. It didn’t really make sense, but if large ex-soldier-turned-detectives were what did it for Stark, he was by no means going to complain.

So the hand Steve had on Tony’s shoulder shifted to his hair and fucking _tugged._

A minute or so later Tony was coming, crying out the detective’s name as he painted the sheets below him. Steve was murmuring into the other’s ear and pumping his hand as he did so—and then he was right behind Tony, his thrusts unsteady before a wave of pleasure crashed into him. Blue eyes shutting tightly and lips parting in a moan, he managed some mixture of Tony’s name and a handful of curses.

Landing on the side of the bed with a small thud, the soldier sighed loudly, a lazy grin plastered to his face. Holy hell. War-torn hands rubbed over his face, wiping the small beads of sweat off his brow and the hair off his face in one sweep. 

Steve could hear the panting beside him eventually slow. Tony looked dazed, to say the least, and glancing over at him, Steve smirked viciously. “Hey, you didn’t lose your voice. Well, at least not all the way.” He couldn’t help but laugh at the response, making the faint crinkles by his eyes deepen as he tossed his head back into the pillow. 

“For real, though, _wow._ You’re somethin’.”

Stark huffed out a laugh and stretched, languid and catlike, on the bed beside the other. 

“So I’ve been told.”


End file.
